


A Picture Worth A Thousand words

by Krysawyr



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen, Kayfabe Compliant, WWE NXT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 15:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14476086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krysawyr/pseuds/Krysawyr
Summary: After NXT Takeover New Orleans Pete is filled with regret, and a bit of nostalgia.This is a thousand words of his thoughts after the show.





	A Picture Worth A Thousand words

A Picture Worth A Thousand Words. 

Pete Dunne could still hear his ears ringing two hours after the match was over. Fortunately his vision had stopped spinning. That shot to the back of the head was like something from years ago, when he was still the youngest Dunne lad, helpless to defend himself, relying on his big brother for it. When his dad was never home and it was just him and his older brother getting supper ready. When he was a little five foot nothing kid with acne splotches across his face and a allegedly roided up father pumping iron rather than noticing the bruises from the fights Pete was getting in day after day after day. 

It felt like years ago Roderick Strong had suggested teaming for the Dusty Tag Team Classic, and even longer when he said he respected him. No matter how many times he played the match over in his head did he understand why he had decided to trust the man. He hardly trusted anyone, and this was exactly the reason why. 

Pete held the ice to the back of his head as he walked to the locker room. He kept his face blank and his head down, he did not want an interview nor did he want his co-workers’ pity. He’d always hated pity, it wasn’t uncommon to be directed towards him, but when it was it made his mouth taste bitter. He spit his mouthguard into his hand and pocketed it, heading into the locker room. There was hardly anyone in it by the time he’d finally made it to his locker, just a few trainees and they all knew to stay away from the young man, they actually left knowing he was always pissed after a loss. 

He was sat in the locker room, still staring at his boots long after everyone else had left. The metal was cold against his bare legs, and all he could think about was how he should have turned around. His phone was buzzing off the hook from Twitter mentions, seemingly shaking the whole wall of lockers. He stood, wobbling slightly as the blood rushed from his head leaving him lightheaded, and took it from his locker, ready to throw it clear across the room, but his thumb accidentally slid across the unlocked screen, pressing the gallery app. 

A picture opened. A picture he hadn't seen in awhile. A picture from nearly a lifetime ago. It hit him in the gut like a sucker punch. Trent, Tyler, and Pete stood on a wooden bridge beside a painfully familiar brick wall. The grey foreboding sky above, like a blanket, looking like it'd rain, but not letting free a droplet for hours. The soft green marshy grass in the background. It all felt like home. The three were in sports coats like a couple of peaky blinders, side by side. He remembered that day in particular, Trent had been rambling on about some match when he passed the conversation to Pete. He simply growled and cussed out his “irrelevant indy darling” opponent. The picture was candid, seconds before Tyler swore at a passing train. He won the match, a helpful distraction for Trent and a sledge hammer. Man did he miss having back up. 

He had a tan jacket in the picture, still wore it as a matter of fact, but it was worn out now. Kind of like him, no longer the brash foul mouthed teenager picking fights with guys across the midlands, trusty sledge hammer in hand. He's grown up a bit. As had the others. Trent's belly was filling out, he was less chatty too, and Tyler, the youngest of the three, was well on his way to becoming one of the best wrestlers of their generation. Although he was out on injury now, he was gunning to jump back in. Pete wished they were here, not to help in the match, but to shoot the breeze after. [He would’ve even settled for a chat with Mark Andrews, a friend he’d long since left behind, one who tended to get on his nerves now, with all his dumbass hand waving and flippy shit.] But he'd more than burned that bridge in Blackpool. British Strong Style died when he let his ambitions get the better of him. None of them were new to cheating, but he'd attacked his best friend outside of a match, unprovoked. Had he just kept a level head, he’d never had broken that trust. And he wouldn't had reigniting Regal’s rage, causing quite a roughing up by the older man. He got in several physical altercations with their boss, William Regal, one of the most infamous British wrestlers of all time. He had nearly thrown all three of them out, some sort of guilt by association. And if Regal hadn’t roughed him up, well, maybe at one hundred percent he would have won; he did in Chicago. 

His finger hovered over the “share” icon, he debated reopening the stable’s group text. No, that was too far, perhaps a tweet, it’d be sure to get them talking, and if the other two got mad, he could claim it was a work to get more eyes on the match. It wasn’t really false, he did want as many eyes on his retaliation as possible, maybe if he made an example out of the man, no one would try and mess with him. He just wanted to tear the man’s head off like Sub Zero in Mortal Kombat, spin trailing. God he hated Rodrick. Did Trent and Tyler like the Undisputed Era? Maybe they could get a tag title match out of it.

Without thinking about the ramifications, he tweeted the picture out. There was no reason to expect a response from his former friends. Though if nothing else, it'd get them all talking about something other than his loss. It was just on picture, but it was a picture worth a thousand words.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the tweet:  
> https://twitter.com/PeteDunneYxB/status/982813212851757056
> 
> I can't wait for Pete to murder Roddy! And hopefully BSS get beck together!


End file.
